The Diary of Isabelle Miller
by Indigo Phoenix
Summary: Kidnap, treachery, a swig of action, a dash of adventure, a sprinkle of romance, and, of course, large amounts of Jack Sparrow... what more could you want? Written entirely in diary form. Chapter Three Up
1. Entry One

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, except Issie. Anyone want to trade her for Jack? No? Oh well. Worth a try.  
  
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SUMMARY: Isabelle Miller, governess to the daughter of Will and Elizabeth Turner, confides in her diary as her life takes a turn for the worse. The pages tell a story of kidnap, treachery and the company of a certain pirate captain. . . R&R!  
  
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A/N: Ahoy there, me hearties! Ahem. Sorry. Welcome to my story. Hope you like it! And please review! I'm one of those highly un-motivated people who won't continue a fic without reviews.  
  
* * - show emphasis, since I haven't quite mastered italics yet.  
  
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Anyway, here we go. . .  
  
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CHAPTER ONE  
  
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Dear Journal  
  
Hold on. I need a second.  
  
All right. I think I can begin. My hand is shaking, so excuse my writing; I can hardly see the page through tears.  
  
Come on, Isabelle. Pull yourself together. You know it will help to write it all down. Just take a deep breath and let it pour out.  
  
Well, it began this morning, I suppose. It was a blustery autumn day, clear and crisp and brisk. Mary Turner, my student, was even more restless than usual. Something about the wind twirling through the treetops always sends her mad. After a few tedious hours in the classroom- a cosy drawing room where I give Mary her lessons- I finally threw my hands in the air with a resigned sigh.  
  
"You're more restless than a wild monkey today, Mary Pearl Turner. I don't know what to do with you!"  
  
"I'm not in a learning-ish mood," she moaned. I grinned. Six-year-olds have very interesting vocabularies sometimes.  
  
"How about an afternoon outing, then?"  
  
Mary leapt to her feet. "Yes! Can we go and see the ships, Miss Isabelle? And the market? Please?" She caught hold of my skirts and looked up at me, her wide eyes shining with expectation. How could I say no?  
  
"All right. But only if your mother agrees, understand? And you must work especially hard at your lessons tomorrow."  
  
With a squeal of joy that quite drowned out my last words, Mary tore out of the classroom to find her mother. Thankfully Mrs Turner agreed, and we were soon on our way.  
  
We walked to the harbour- well I walked, and Mary skipped, bouncing like a puppy. She was, as always, enthralled by the ships- and I admit that I love them as much as her. We sat for a long while, watching the great majestic sails balloon and flutter in the salty breeze. My hair was tugged loose from its tight braid and I felt the worries lift from my heart like a musty sheet being pulled away. We sang a few of Mary's favourite nursery rhymes at the top of our voices, earning a few strange glances from the men loading the ships. I felt free and cheerful for the first time in months. It was a wonderful hour. When Mary tired of the ships, we headed for the Wednesday market along the shorefront boulevard.  
  
I love the market too, with its array of stalls lining the cobbled avenue, jostling for position. Everything is so loud and bright and colourful. We passed many different stalls; some laden with fresh fish, several stacked high with exotic fragrant fruit and a few displaying handmade jewellery and fabrics. The shopkeepers bartered good-naturedly with customers, their voices clamouring on the breeze.  
  
We had wandered for a good while when I caught sight of a beautiful scarf of Arabian silk, probably brought in that morning on one of the trade ships. It was lovely; shot through with rich purple and edged with filigree golden lace. I let go of Mary's hand for a moment to check the price. Far too expensive, as I had expected. With an apologetic shake of the head to the shopkeeper, I replaced the scarf and felt for Mary at my side.  
  
She wasn't there.  
  
I don't know how I am going to write this part. It floods me with horror whenever I think of it.  
  
I spun a full circle, scanning the slow-moving river of people flowing by. "Mary?" I called, moving away from the shop. No sign of her. My heart began to beat a frantic rhythm against my chest. Oh God, I thought, where is she? That is when I saw a tall man weaving through the crowd ahead, leading a little blonde-pigtailed girl by the wrist. It was Mary. "Stop!" I cried, battling my way forward through the crush of bodies. At the sound of my voice the man glanced briefly over his shoulder. I caught a brief glimpse of a broad, swarthy face with a neatly trimmed black beard before he turned back, lifted Mary easily into his arms and broke into a controlled jog, elbowing his way through the crowd. I noticed fleetingly that he moved with a slight limp, favouring his left foot.  
  
I cried out again, but my voice melted into the general din of the market.  
  
As I pushed forward desperately, the throng of people seemed to tighten around me. No one payed much attention to me. I was just another young woman trying to make a way through the crowd. For several agonising seconds my way was blocked by a group of merchants on horse back and, by the time the path had cleared, there was no sign of Mary or her kidnapper. I hurried forward nevertheless, my eyes searching urgently. I gave up when I reached the opposite end of the marketplace. The crowd had thinned, and there were any number of side streets and alleyways in which the kidnapper could hide. He could be half a mile away by now, on horseback. I slumped by the road, sobbing with guilt, frustration and horror. What had I done?  
  
Compose yourself, Isabelle Miller, I told myself sharply. You've lost her, and here you are weeping in the gutter, doing no good for anyone. The very least you can do is control yourself.  
  
I fought to clear my mind as I got to my feet and briskly swiped the tears from my eyes. The best thing to do, I decided, was to tell the Turners. Then a full search could begin.  
  
I remember little of the race back to the manor on the hill. The memory is a blur of pounding feet and long cumbersome skirts flapping about my legs. I think that at that stage my mind was numb- I felt only a desperate helplessness and the urgent need to tell someone about Mary. I fooled myself that everything would be all right once Mary's parents knew. Surely they would be able to do something.  
  
I burst into the manor and seized the nearest person. It was Anna, the scullery maid.  
  
"Where is Mrs Turner?" I half-yelled at the poor girl. I must have looked a fright- dishevelled hair, red face dripping with sweat and eyes wide with terror.  
  
"I-I think she's in the sunroom, with Mr Turner. Issie, what-?"  
  
Without another word I charged away and pounded upstairs. I threw open the door to the sunroom and burst inside. There sat Elizabeth with William Turner, her husband. They had been laughing about something but looked up, startled, at my arrival.  
  
"Isabelle?" Mrs Turner raised an eyebrow. "What on Earth is wrong?"  
  
"Mary," I panted, half-sobbing. "She- she's been taken. By a man. A-at the marketplace."  
  
Both Turners rose to their feet in slow motion. It would have been almost comical, had the situation not been so terrible.  
  
"What?" William gasped. Elizabeth swayed on her feet.  
  
"I-I turned my back for a m-moment, and she was g-gone."  
  
The Turners seemed frozen with horror. This isn't meant to happen, I thought irrationally. They should be leaping into action, starting a search, doing *something*. To my relief, William gathered himself and started firing questions with alarming urgency.  
  
"How long ago? Where exactly did you last see her? Did you see the man clearly?"  
  
"About-about half an hour ago, in the middle of the market, by a fabric stall. I-I think I got a decent look."  
  
"Describe him."  
  
This swift efficiency helped me to think. "He had a short black beard and a broad sort of face. Tall, quite well built, wearing a long dark coat and brown trousers. He had shortly cropped hair. I'd say about thirty-five years old. Walked with a slight limp."  
  
"Doesn't sound familiar." William began to pace up and down the room, grimacing.  
  
"Oh, Will," Elizabeth said, her voice thick with pain. "What are we going to do? The Navy? Commodore Westleigh?  
  
William shook his head. "No, no. You know that he will not help. He bears a grudge against me. He knows of my connections with pirates, not to mention my own activities. If only Norrington was still there." He raised a hand to his forehead.  
  
"Will!" Elizabeth suddenly gasped. "Jack will help!"  
  
"Of course!" William cried, making for the door. "If there's one man who knows every low-life in Port Royal, it's Jack Sparrow. Come, the Pearl is docked at the harbour. Hurry!"  
  
They left the room faster than I have seen anyone move before. "Stay here," Elizabeth shot over her shoulder. "We'll be back soon."  
  
After they left I wandered aimlessly through the house for a few moments, my mind struggling beneath a tumultuous squall of emotions. I found myself in my room, downstairs in the servant's quarters. I slumped at my small desk, made many years ago by my grandfather, shipped from England because I couldn't bear to be parted from it. Running my trembling fingers across its notched surface, the cool wood helped to soothe me a little.  
  
That was when this book caught my eye, leather with embossed gold letters spelling out the word 'journal' across its cover. It had been a parting gift from my Aunty Emmaline, left sitting idly on my desk for years. I had never had use for it before but now I found myself lifting it, flipping open the smooth cover. On the title page, in small rounded script, Aunty had written: "To record your thoughts my dear, in the strange new world. May these pages speak of many happy days."  
  
And here I am. I have filled seven pages already, and none of it happy. But it is good to put my thoughts on paper. I feel calmer.  
  
Wait.  
  
Footsteps on the stairs. . . 


	2. Entry Two

I'm so sorry for the huge delay in posting this chapter. Honestly, there's no excuse. But here it is, finally. It's a nice long one, too. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter (Seven! Yay!)- Cassandra Lynn, Eldhwen, Plateado, LSelf and Haibane, and HUGE thanks to Elentari II, whose second review galvanized me into finally posting this chapter. Now, on with the story. . .  
  
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Dear Journal  
  
Well. What a day. I'm just going to write now, just let it pour out. I think I need to. Maybe if I write everything down, the thoughts will somehow be plucked from my head and left in neat rows upon this page, harmless. At the moment they're swirling around in my head, wreaking havoc and keeping me from sleep. I suppose I had better start where I left off last entry.  
  
I remember clearly the way my heart jolted when I heard those footsteps, heralding the return of the Turners and their friend, Jack Sparrow. I threw this book aside, leapt to my feet and ran upstairs, almost colliding with them outside door to the sunroom. William, tight-lipped, opened the door and motioned for us to enter. I settled uncomfortably onto a wicker chair, my palms sweating.  
  
"Jack needs to ask some questions, Issie," Elizabeth said, her usually warm voice sharp and icy. It hurt, though I didn't blame her; her daughter had been taken while in my custody. She had every right to be furious. But still, it hurt. We were of about the same age, and had become very close friends in the year that I had taught Mary.  
  
I pushed these thoughts from my mind and turned for the first time to the stranger, Jack Sparrow. I had heard of him, of course. Everyone has. I had even seen him once, when he visited the Turners a little while ago, but never at close range. He was unmistakably a pirate; long hair threaded with coins and beads, black hat, heavy rings, gold teeth and kohl-lined eyes. I'm ashamed to say that I also noticed that he was very handsome, in a roguish sort of way. Rough, grimy and slightly drunk, but handsome all the same. He looked incredibly out of place in the soft, delicate surroundings of the pretty sunroom. I admit to being a little scared of him. He knew it, too, by the glint in his eye.  
  
"So you're the one who got little Mary kidnapped, eh?"  
  
I nodded stiffly, slightly taken aback.  
  
"Good on you. Little scallywag, that girl. No respect for her elders. Stole my hat once, had to chase her all over the bloody house." Elizabeth, nerves stretched to breaking point, shot him a glare. But I could see in his eyes that he cared deeply for Mary. This was just his way.  
  
"Questions, Jack," Will prompted sharply.  
  
"Aye." Jack set his boot clad feet on the dainty glass table. Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and remained silent. "Now, missy, I need you to think hard." He squinted at me until I nodded. "Did you see the kidnapper's hand?"  
  
"I- I'm not sure."  
  
"Because, accordin' to dear William here, you said that he had a slight limp. There's only one man I know who has a limp and matches your description. But I need to be completely sure, savvy?"  
  
I had a sudden flash of memory, so vivid that it could have been happening directly in front of me. A rough hand enclosing Mary's little wrist, a glimpse of blue. . .  
  
"A tattoo! He had a blue tattoo on the back of his right hand."  
  
Jack looked decidedly pleased with himself. "Well, that'd be old Jimmy Cobbler," he announced. I felt an incredible sense of relief. The faceless evil finally had a name.  
  
"Jimmy Cobbler?" Will asked blankly. "Who's that?"  
  
"Good mate o'mine. Till he went mad, that is, and tried to kill me. But that's an entirely different story."  
  
"Do you know where he might be?" Will asked.  
  
Jack shook his head slowly. "Sorry, mate. But I could find out."  
  
Elizabeth sat up straighter. "Could you?"  
  
"Aye," he grinned. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. O' course I can. Just got to ask the right people the right questions, and make sure I get the bloody well right answers." Getting to his feet, he turned to Will. "Go to Commodore Westleigh, mate. I know he hates you, but it's worth a try. Maybe he'll come 'round. I'll meet you back here in a couple o' hours." He briefly laid a heavily-ringed hand on William's shoulder and said with uncharacteristic softness: "She'll be right, mate. We'll find her." Will gave him a small grin of thanks. Jack nodded to Elizabeth, spun on his heel and exited with his distinctive half-drunken swagger of a walk, leaving Will, Elizabeth and myself standing in silence.  
  
"We should do as he says," Elizabeth said after a moment. "The Commodore might help."  
  
"Just as likely to throw me behind bars as soon as I set foot in his office," Will replied grimly. "But Jack's right. What else can we do?" He turned to me. "You should come too, Issie. Westleigh might need a witness report." I nodded, my throat tight.  
  
As we settled quickly in the horse-drawn carriage and started briskly down the hill towards the Navy headquarters, Elizabeth took my arm.  
  
"I'm sorry for being sharp earlier, Issie," she said quietly. "I am not angry with you. It's not your fault that Mary was taken. It's just. . ." she broke off, and her voice cracked a little with tears.  
  
I hugged her close, unsure of what to say. "We have to be strong," I said quietly. "For Mary's sake." She nodded, took a deep breath and dashed away her tears.  
  
"You're right," she said, holding her chin high. We sat in silence, then, each grappling with our own thoughts, our hands still intertwined. I sensed that she was drawing strength from me, and I squeezed her hand tight. William drove the horses very quickly and we arrived at Westleigh's headquarters within minutes. It was an imposing stone building looking out over the sea. Without hesitation, Will opened the door and entered.  
  
The Commodore was seated at his desk, writing a letter or something of the sort. He looked up as we stepped inside, and something flashed in his eyes when he saw William. What was it? Triumph? Satisfaction? I'm not sure. Whatever it was, I didn't like it at all.  
  
But allow me to tell you a little about Commodore Westleigh. A former captain, he was promoted to commodore a little over two months ago, when Norrington was killed at sea by pirates. He is a man of great ambition, and possesses a passionate hatred of pirates. Within a week of being named Commodore he launched a full assault on pirate activity in the colonies, picking off most of the smaller ships and abolishing many of the onshore pirate headquarters. After doing away with the minor threats, he set his sights on the Black Pearl. For weeks he chased her, but she eluded him every time. It had become somewhat of a joke in Port Royal, the way that the Pearl always seemed to slip through Westleigh's fingers, leaving him fuming in her wake. The fact that most of his own people were laughing at him from behind their hands only drove Westleigh harder.  
  
"Ah, Mr Turner," said Westleigh, his polite tone tinged with patronizing sarcasm. "What can I do for you, my boy?" He set his quill aside and smoothed his immaculate wig with manicured fingers. His sharp blue eyes, like chips of ice embedded in his pale face, gazed almost hungrily at Will  
  
"Commodore," Will nodded stiffly in greeting. "I am here to report a kidnapping."  
  
"Oh dear. Not your little daughter?"  
  
I started a little at this, wondering why he had jumped so quickly to that conclusion. Will could have seen any kidnapping in the street, and come to give an account of it. Westleigh's blue eyes flicked briefly in my direction, but returned quickly to Will, deeming me unimportant.  
  
"Yes," said Elizabeth, stepping forward and fixing the Commodore with an intense stare, her chin held high. "Mary was taken by a man in the marketplace, about three quarters of an hour ago." Westleigh looked a little taken aback for a moment, accustomed to women standing demurely in the background and letting their husbands do the talking, but recovered himself quickly.  
  
"Well, that's terrible news." He gave a slightly embellished sigh. "Do you have a description of the culprit?"  
  
Will nodded to me, and I stepped forward. As I spoke, the Commodore leant forward upon his elbows in a show of attentiveness, though it seemed to me that he was hardly taking in a word I said. After I had recounted much the same description that I had given earlier, Will spoke again.  
  
"A. . . friend of mine recognised the man as a rogue by the name of James Cobbler. Do you know of him?"  
  
The Commodore shook his head. "The name doesn't ring a bell." He sighed again, settling back in his chair and steepling the tips of his fingers. "There isn't much we can do, I'm afraid."  
  
"What do you mean?" Will asked, his voice dangerously low.  
  
The Commodore shook his head remorsefully. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr Turner, but we can't search the whole island on such a vague description."  
  
Something in Will seemed to snap. He strode forward, eyes blazing.  
  
"Westleigh!" he snarled, setting both hands on the Commodore's desk and leaning forwards. "Listen to me! We have our differences, but this is a six- year-old girl that we're talking about. You have a name and a description, for God's sake. Please, do something!"  
  
The Commodore narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth tweaking upwards in a slight sneer. He clicked his fingers once, and eight soldiers of the Navy stepped out of a small room to one side of the Commodore's desk.  
  
"Remove this man from my office," he said briskly, his eyes locked on Will's face. "Take him to the gaol. Set four men to guard him."  
  
Will hesitated for a moment, utterly shocked, and then deftly drew his sword. "Run!" he cried to us over his shoulder as the first of the soldiers lunged for him. Both Elizabeth and I had been frozen up to this point but the clash of swords startled us into action.  
  
"No!" Elizabeth cried.  
  
"Elizabeth! Go!"  
  
"You had better catch the two wenches as well," Westleigh sighed, gesturing to us languidly. One of the men turned and started towards us. I grabbed Elizabeth and began to pull her towards the door. Her eyes were fixed on Will, who was fighting desperately to fend off the soldiers.  
  
A voice from behind caused us to spin around. "I leave you alone for two bloody minutes, and look what a mess you get yeselves into." In the doorway stood Jack Sparrow, pistol aimed directly at the Commodore, calmly surveying the chaos before him with his head cocked slightly to one side. Everyone in the room froze, staring.  
  
"Jack Sparrow!" Westleigh gasped.  
  
"*Captain*, if you please." He bowed lavishly. "Good afternoon to you, my dear Commodore. Nice weather we're havin'. Now, if you'd be so kind as to stop trying to kill me mate William here, I'll not be needin' to shoot you. Do we have an accord?"  
  
Westleigh, glaring hungrily at Jack but eyeing the pistol warily, motioned for his men to unhand Will. Will pulled away and hurried to Elizabeth's side, keeping his sword unsheathed, eyes sharp with anger.  
  
"So, Sparrow," the Commodore said coolly, eyes fixed on the pirate captain. "We meet again."  
  
"Aye. Pleasure, as always, Commodore. Haven't seen you this close for weeks- you always seem to be trailin' a good way behind the Pearl."  
  
The Commodore went an alarming shade of purple. "Just wait, Sparrow," he hissed, surging to his feet. "Just you wait." He looked as if he wanted to vault over his desk and pounce on Jack, pistol or no pistol.  
  
"Careful, mate, careful." Jack raised his eyebrows slightly and made a show of tightening his finger upon the trigger.  
  
The Commodore slowly sat back down and took a moment to gather his composure. When he spoke again, his voice was cool and measured. "Well, Mister Sparrow, it seems that we have ourselves a stalemate. I can't capture you or your friends here without being shot; you can't escape without being killed by my men."  
  
Now, I shall stop here, for my hand aches with writing and it is getting late. The moon is high- I have lost track of time. I have filled almost ten pages! I shall continue soon, though, for writing is something of a therapy. Goodnight, my journal. I shall see you in the morning.  
  
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Ooooohhh, suspense! Sorry, but this chapter was getting too long, and I had to cut it off somewhere. I go back to school tomorrow, so updates probably won't be all that frequent. I'll try to do them as quickly as possible, though! The more reviews, the quicker I'll post the next chapter. 


	3. Entry Three

Yes, I know. This chapter took forever to post. Sorry. Here it is, though. Enjoy!  
  
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Entry Three:  
  
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Dear Journal,  
  
It is morning now; a cold, crisp autumn morning. The sky is a beautiful periwinkle blue, and the water looks as if it is strewn with diamonds. But I digress- I am keeping you in suspense, my journal. I shall continue with my story from last night.  
  
There we were, in Westleigh's office- Jack's pistol trained on Westleigh, eight men of the Navy itching to pounce on us. Tension hummed in the air.  
  
"Well, Captain?" Westleigh mocked, raising his thin eyebrows. "How will you, the infamous Jack Sparrow, escape from this tight situation? If you shoot me, my men will kill you. If you try to flee, you will be chased and captured within moments. It seems, my friend, that you are trapped."  
  
Jack shot him a gold-studded grin. "I wouldn't be countin' on it, Commodore." I saw a glint in his eye. Oh my God, I thought. What on earth is he going to do? I didn't have to wait long to find out. Without further ado, Jack swung his pistol upwards and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped into the ceiling, causing a hail of plaster to rain upon our heads. The boom of the gunshot reverberated violently in the air. Everyone instinctively ducked- and then Elizabeth caught my arm and we darted to the door, Will and Jack behind us. We emerged, spluttering and coughing, into the afternoon sunlight. A crowd had been drawn by the sound of the shot, and they gawked on as we scrambled frantically into Will's carriage sitting on the cobblestone street outside. Jack leapt into the driver's seat, picked up the whip and stung the poor horses into action. We careered down the busy street, Jack driving the horses like a madman. The wheels jolted over the cobblestones, jarring our bones. A moment later bullets ricocheted through the air. One tore a hole through the seat not five inches from my shoulder.  
  
Needless to say, we lay down quickly on the floor, arms over our heads. The storm of bullets became a trickle.  
  
"We're out of their range," Will panted, flashing us a triumphant grin.  
  
That was when one of our back wheels was shot off.  
  
The carriage tipped, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Jack dragged on the reins so hard that by the time we went over completely the horses had almost pulled to a halt. Still, we hit the ground with a thud, and rolled. Will, Elizabeth and I were piled up on the new floor of the carriage- what had once been the roof. We lay there for a moment, crushed, bruised and battered. Jack, who had of course leapt to safety, peered in through a window. He felt that it was necessary to burst out laughing at the sight of us. Rather inconsiderate of him, I thought.  
  
"Open the bloody door," Will snarled, putting an abrupt end to the joviality. Jack hastened to obey and we clambered out onto the cobblestones.  
  
"Anything broken?" Elizabeth asked as we gingerly flexed our limbs.  
  
"My carriage," Will replied grimly, surveying the wreckage. The two horses had managed to pull free from their harnesses and looked no worse for wear. The same could not be said for the carriage.  
  
"Well, I think we'd better be off," Jack announced.  
  
"Why?" Elizabeth asked, rubbing her sore neck. Jack pointed to the direction from which they had come. A dozen men of the Navy were elbowing their way through the crowd towards us, their smart uniforms conspicuous amongst the drab clothes of the other onlookers. In all the confusion we had completely forgotten about Westleigh's men.  
  
"What are we going to do?" I cried unhelpfully. In answer, Jack seized the reins dangling from the bridle of one of the two horses and pulled himself into the saddle. He caught my wrist and hauled me up behind him. Will and Elizabeth mounted the other and we were off, thundering down the road, the shouts of the soldiers sounding in our wake. They were strong, sturdy horses, thank heavens, agile enough to carry two people and still make good speed. Soon we were clear of the main bustle of Port Royal and into the lesser-populated outskirts. I clung to Jack for dear life as we hurtled along, hooves thundering beneath us.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than fifteen minutes, we arrived at the opposite end of the island. The land was rocky and inhospitable, and therefore sparsely populated.  
  
"Where are we going?" I hollered in Jack's ear as we cantered along, nearing the pebbly dunes of the shoreline.  
  
"To me favourite place in the world," he yelled back, grinning. As we scaled the dunes, sand spraying from beneath our horse's hooves, a gently bobbing mast came into view. It was soon followed by the rest of a rather magnificent ship- the Black Pearl, I assumed. It was moored a little out to sea but I could clearly make out the skull-and-crossbones fluttering brashly from the mainmast. I felt an odd thrill of excitement at the sight- excitement tinged with horror, admittedly, but excitement all the same.  
  
While I was busy gawping Jack had dismounted. Will and Elizabeth arrived a moment later, their horse causing a minor landslide as it slithered down the last of the dunes. Will leapt down and helped Elizabeth to dismount.  
  
"The Pearl," he said softly, a glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gazed out to sea. "It is good to see her again."  
  
Jack, meanwhile, had caught the attention of his crew. I saw that a rowboat was being lowered over the side, preparing to come and fetch us.  
  
"Why on earth is she moored over this side of the island?" Elizabeth asked.  
  
"I wasn't exactly goin' to waltz into the main port, pirate flag flyin' high, was I? That bloody Westleigh'd think all his promotions had come at once."  
  
"What about Mary?" Will asked with sudden urgency. "Did you find out where she is?"  
  
"Aye," Jack said gravely. "Jimmy Cobbler was seen takin' her aboard a ship bound for Tortuga."  
  
"Oh," Elizabeth gasped. She seemed almost to collapse, and Will moved to support her.  
  
"We must go to Tortuga, Jack," he said urgently.  
  
"O' course," he said. "Where else am I goin' to take you? Afternoon tea with the Commodore?"  
  
The rowboat arrived then, and we waded out a little to meet it. A ruddy- faced man, who Jack called Mr. Gibbs, had rowed it in. He helped us aboard and we set off, gliding through the gently swelling waves.  
  
We soon arrived at the Pearl and were hauled up onto the deck. It felt like some kind of dream to be on an actual pirate ship - a sodden and cold dream, admittedly, because a large amount of water had sloshed into the rowboat. At first I was a little apprehensive. Well, all right- more than a little apprehensive. Downright terrified, in fact. Every child of the colonies is told time and time again that pirates are wicked villains, best avoided, preferably dead. But I simply couldn't make the crew of the Black Pearl fit with that picture. They stood on the deck to greet us, looking a little scruffy and rather tough, but almost like normal people. There was even a woman, who flashed me a bold grin. And they welcomed Jack soundly, with a kind of respectful affection. I felt myself liking them immediately.  
  
Jack gave them a brief account of all that had happened that afternoon, and within moments the deck was teeming with activity and the air ringing with orders. Sails were raised, the anchor hauled, and suddenly we were off, steering out of the cove and into open sea.  
  
When we were well on our way, Jack left the helm in the hands of Mr. Gibbs and came to talk to Will, Elizabeth and I. We settled down in the cabin on rather uncomfortable wooden seats.  
  
"Now, Jack," Elizabeth said, leaning forwards a little. Her tone was calm, and she was obviously trying to remain composed, but the tinge of urgency in her voice betrayed her worry. "Who is this James Cobbler? Why has he taken Mary?"  
  
Jack, holding his customary mug of rum, settled back to answer. "Well, he was a member of me crew, before the whole Barbossa episode-"  
  
"What Barbossa episode?" I cut in.  
  
Jack sighed long-sufferingly. "Jack is marooned on desert island by mutinous scumbag," he recited, as if reading from a textbook. "Jack is rescued. Jack chases scumbag with blacksmith. Scumbag is now cursed immortal skeleton. Plan fails. Jack, however, uses incredible strength of mind, roguish good looks and remarkable skill with sword to recapture ship, kill scumbag and sail off into sunset."  
  
I was a little lost, but nodded all the same.  
  
"Anyway," Jack went on, "Cobbler always was a few pints short of a barrel, if you know what I mean." I thought this was a bit ironic coming from him, but wisely refrained from saying so. "One day," he continued, "the bugger took it in his head to kill me and take over the Pearl. So I fought him, of course. And I won, of course. An' he walked the plank, and that was the end of it."  
  
"But now," Elizabeth added grimly, "it appears that he has come back from the dead, and taken our daughter. But why?"  
  
"I don't know," Will replied grimly. "But I plan to find out."  
  
"We'll have to take a slight. . . detour to Tortuga," Jack said, a little apprehensively. He was obviously fearful of Will's reaction. "Every ship o' the Navy will be out lookin' for us. We'll have to go by the backwaters, as it were."  
  
"How long will it take, Jack?" Will asked, voice lowered dangerously.  
  
"Oh," Jack said airily, "we'll arrive by, say, tomorrow night?"  
  
"No!" Elizabeth cried, jumping to her feet. "Jack, we can't! Let's sail straight there. Surely the Pearl can outrun the Navy?"  
  
Jack shook his head. "'Fraid not. They'll have a head start on us already. They'll be circlin' the island already, headin' this way. We have to do something unexpected, or they'll catch us. It's the only way."  
  
Elizabeth sunk slowly back down onto her seat. Will took her hand. "You're right," she said quietly. "If they catch us, we'll never get to Mary."  
  
We headed back up onto the main deck. The sun was setting, clinging to the sky with ropes of exquisite colour. It felt so strange to think that Mary had been taken only that afternoon. It seemed an eternity ago. That very morning I had been teaching her to read, going through a big, colourful book with her, helping her over the long words. I moved away from the others and found a quiet corner where I sat, guilt and anxiety washing over me in waves. Up until that moment, everything had been happening so quickly that the horror of it had been pushed from my mind. I sat there for a long time. Only when Elizabeth appeared beside me and gently took my arm did I stir, realising with a start that the moon was high in the sky. We hugged without a word, and she took me to a bed that had been made up in the cabin.  
  
That's where I wrote my previous entry. After writing for a good two hours I fell into sleep. Now it's morning, and I feel a little better. I mean, it is selfish of me to grieve so much. I can't imagine what Will and Elizabeth are going through.  
  
Well, it seems that we have a long day of sailing ahead. Thank heavens I don't get seasick.  
  
Until next time, my diary, I shall close you up and tuck you away somewhere safe. Thank you. You have helped.  
  
~  
  
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